A Woman's Work
by Eitak Renmus
Summary: They went mostly unnoticed--they had no choice in the matter. The lives of female slaves was generally of little concern to others. They cleaned and cooked, danced and seduced. But upon closer inspection, the desperation of their lives was real.
1. Hush, don't look back

AN: Hi peoples! I've been in a bit of a Star Wars mode recently and decided to expand upon a few of my characters backgrounds, going so far back as to cover their births. I've rated this PG13, as I don't really see anything too touchy about birth. If however, birth freaks you out, you might want to skip over the first few pages. Please feel free to critique and RR.

Cheers!

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In the dead of night two Dugs crouched over their fellow in the cramped darkness of the servants quarters. The room was scarcely bigger than a closet and arranged so that the three female dugs slept in hammocks, one above the other. Tonight however, one of them lies prone on the floor, the other two watching her intently. The female lying on the ground strained, her camel-like face contorted in a silent grimace and her long neck arched. Lying on her back, her stomach bulged and her hind legs, which had adapted into the primary manipulators, were spread and raised. Her breath quickened and a moan of pain escaped her.

"Hush, Tansaca." Valhan, the eldest of the small group said. "We cannot wake Veeak."

Tansaca turned her head towards Valhan, sweat dripping from her brow and cursed under her breath.

"Will she be alright?" Asked the youngest of the three; she was not even mature yet. She was watching Tansaca with unabashed concern and interest. Valhan nodded before shushing Sundsin.

"Take her hand." She said. Sundsin obediently took hold of Tansaca's hand and grimaced as the other female gripped her with such ferocity she thought her fingers might break. Tansaca took a deep shuddering breath, her eyes squeezed tightly shut as another contraction wound through her body. She clenched her every muscle, now leaning forwards and pushing as though her life depended on it and as the contraction lessened, she slumped backwards, body damp with sweat and holding her cries of pain inside although it must of shown on her face for Valhan allowed a rare moment of concern by gently stroking the struggling females brow. The anatomy of the Dug body did not make birth an easy affair. Their heads were large in relation to their bodies and as such, they were born early, blind and completely helpless. But even the shortened gestation could not ease the infant's passage into the world. Their hips were narrow from the smallness of their bodies and birth was an excruciating ordeal.

Inwardly Valhan was deeply worried. Although Dugs rarely showed care or concern to one another, the emotions did exist. It took exceptional situations like these for the emotions to stir. Valhan herself was well past middle age and had given birth several times. She knew how it felt, what a drain it was to even form the fetus. Tansaca had not been given extra rest once their Gran master, Veeak, had realized that she was pregnant. To him, Tansaca was just another servant, a Dug, a being of no importance. He had not shortened her workdays, nor given her easier work to do. She was not even given extra food. Valhan had watched with increasing nervousness as Tansaca's body began to weaken over the four-month gestation. Her limbs had shriveled, and while her breasts swelled, the rest of her torso looked drawn and pinched. She had collapsed once, while trying to move a piece of furniture from their master's bedroom to a guest bedroom. Veeak had beaten the pregnant Dug until Valhan and Sundsin rushed to her aid and dragged her back to the servant's quarters. Both Valhan and Sundsin had received harsh reprimands for acting against their master, and had had so much extra work heaped upon them that they had ached for days afterwards.

As Tansaca tried in vain to quiet a bleat of pain as her body shuddered in another forceful contraction, Valhan realized she was unsure weather the young mother would survive the birth.

"Push, Tansaca, push and it will be over." She said, taking Tansaca's other hand. Tansaca lay, breathing weakly, her eyes unfocused and then grimaced, arching her back as another contraction gripped her. She pushed mightily, and a gush of fluid flowed from between her legs. Valhan breathed in relief to see that there was not a large amount of blood in the fluid. Tansaca was at least not hemorrhaging.

"Sundsin, grab me some of those cloths we took the other day." Valhan hissed, not taking her eyes off of Tansaca as the other female writhed in pain. Sundsin did as she was told; climbing agilely up to her hammock and removing five towels they had stolen from their master's laundry. He may have kept extra food from Tansaca, but they were going to make sure her birth went as well as it could. Sundsin handed them over to Valhan who placed them on the ground before Tansaca to soak up the birthing fluid.

Again Tansaca fell limply backwards after the contraction had forced its way from her but no sooner had her head fallen to the floor than she was forced up again by her arching back. The contractions were coming closer together. She was unable to keep a cry of pain from escaping her. Valhan hushed her again, but she did it merely out of habit.

"Push, push!" She whispered urgently. "One good push and the head will be out."

A whimper escaped Tansaca as she prepared herself for another, bone wrenching, skin tearing push. She pushed down with every bit of strength still left in her and continued to push for an eternity it seemed.

"There's the head!" Sundsin said, eagerly.

"Keep going, Tansaca." Valhan said, now dabbing Tansaca's sweat drenched face with one of the towels. She continued to push, her teeth gritted and her groans of pain gaining volume. Valhan did not have the heart to hush her. With an exhausted cry, she fell limp, breathing heavily and her heart hammering against her ribs. She could not believe the pain of it. It felt as though every bit of her body was being torn in two.

"One more good push like that and it'll be out. Come on, breath!" Valhan said, forgetting to whisper.

Tansaca squeezed her eyes shut again. There was no way she could do that again! Just no way! Valhan appeared blearily before her eyes as the older female leaned over her.

"Come on! You're not giving up! It's almost done, you can't give up now!"

To Tansaca's pain dulled surprise, she felt Valhan take her under her shoulders and lift her into a squatting position. "Sundsin help me hold her up. This way may be easier for her."

Tansaca weakly felt Sundsin's arms support her other side and then another contraction was upon her. She screamed as everything within her convulsed downwards. She was vaguely aware of Valhan muffling her scream with one of her cloths. She pushed until she thought her body must surely turn itself inside out, could feel herself tearing and a gush of fluid. She again went limp, but Sundsin and Valhan held her and lowered her to the floor.

Valhan had caught the baby before it had fallen to the floor. She grabbed the nearest unsoiled cloth and began to dab the infant clean. She placed her mouth to each tiny nostril and sucked. She spat the clogs to the floor and the baby, now able to breath, let out a tiny mewling wail. As exhausted as she was, the pitiful little sound roused Tansaca enough that she lifted her head and peered at her firstborn through pain blurred eyes. Valhan cut the umbilical with a carving knife she had used on the masters meal only yesterday.

"It's a male." Sundsin said to the new mother excitedly. Tansaca nodded to herself, pleased, and watched as Valhan continued to clean him, dipping the cloth into their only pitcher of clean water and dabbing it across him. The baby squirmed feebly; it's limbs moving slowly in every direction. Tansaca felt another dull contraction, but this one seemed to be happening to her from a great distance. As the afterbirth was delivered, Valhan handed the baby over to Sundsin and then wrapped the placenta and afterbirth in the cloth they had laid below Tansaca. They would have to wait until morning to dispose of it.

Sundsin had never held a baby before, much less one as new to the world as this. At only seven years old herself, she felt a certain kinship to the tiny creature in her arms.

"Let me see him." Tansaca said weakly, unable to so much as sit up. Sundsin handed the baby over to her thin, outstretched arms. Tansaca held him before her, surprised at the weight of the infant. _So there's where all my food has been going_. She thought to herself. The baby Dug looked much like an adult, except that his head was larger in proportion, the snout much shorter and the closed eyes bigger. He as of yet lacked the sharp brows of adult males, and the vestigial ridge, or the dangling flaps of skin. His arms and legs were rather shorter and chubbier. Tansaca was immediately smitten with her small son and as he made a series of high whimpering sounds, trying to suckle on her thumb, her heart all but melted. She held the small, warm baby against her chest, breathing in his scent and delighting in his small suckling whimpers.

"He looks very healthy, Tansaca." Valhan said, with a nod of approval. "You've done well."

"No thanks to Veeak." Sundsin snorted. Already, the young Dug was showing signs of distrust and insolence towards authority figures—something most Dugs exhibited their entire lives.

"No, no thanks to Veeak. We'll smuggle you some extra food tomorrow, Tansaca."

"Won't he make you try to work tomorrow?" Sundsin asked, watching the baby with her head cocked at an angle.

"Probably." Tansaca said, her voice quiet with weariness.

"We'll talk him out if it." Valhan said and the tone in her voice made Tansaca believe it. Valhan draped the last clean towel over Tansaca and her baby and Tansaca welcomed the warmth of it.

"Sleep now. The baby will be fine." Valhan said. "If you need me, ask." With that the older Dug climbed up and into her hammock and curled beneath her worn blanket. Sundsin took one last look at the new, tiny Dug and followed her elder's example. Tansaca held her baby to her chest, nuzzling him with her snout. She gazed at him for a few sleepy moments and then, too weak to fight it any longer, she too fell asleep.

She awoke far too early, as the other two got ready for the day of work stretched out before them. Sundsin leapt lightly from her top hammock to the floor and, upon seeing that Tansaca had awoken, walked over to her curiously.

"Is he asleep still?" Sundsin asked.

Tansaca nodded sleepily and lay her head back down. She was in no mood for conversation with the young girl or to awaken the baby and hand him to her, which was undoubtedly what she wanted.

"Let her sleep, Sundsin." Valhan said from above. It took her a bit longer to get going in the mornings, especially after her lack of rest.

"I don't have to listen to you." Sundsin said sulkily.

"You'll listen if you know what's good for you." Valhan said in such a voice and with such a fierce glare that Sundsin relented, her fin-like ears folded back submissively.

"We'll explain to Veeak that you gave birth during the night and are too weak to work today." Valhan said as she pulled on her drab work clothes. "Even he could not deny such a thing."

"He'll try to." Said Tansaca. She stole a glance at her baby, who was still curled against her chest beneath the towel blanket.

Valhan grunted dismissively under her breath and the two of them headed out of the door and to work.

"I'll bring you some breakfast." Sundsin said before her lanky frame disappeared from view. As the door to their quarters shut, Tansaca sighed and experimentally flexed her arms. Her lips pulled back tightly; apparently anything connected to her pelvis still hurt. Body sore from lying on the floor all night, she braced her self and stood. Dugs had evolved so that they used their arms as legs, and their legs as arms. Tansaca felt incredibly off balance and her head swam. She took an experimental step forwards and when she did not fall, she climbed painfully into her hammock. She could feel torn skin reopen and start to bleed but she did not care much. She pulled her blanket around her and curled up.

Her movements had awoken the baby, who began to fidget and to make his mewling whimpers. At first she found these soothing until they gained in volume and urgency. Aggrieved and somewhat annoyed, she examined him closely. The eyes were still shut tight—but Valhan said they would open in a week or so. Perhaps he was hungry? Experimentally she placed him to her breasts. The tiny mouth found one and he immediately began to suckle. Tansaca started at the odd sensation before relaxing to it and gazed down at him as he ate, still making tiny mewling sounds through the suckling.

_What should I name you?_ Tansaca thought to herself. _I could name you after your father…but that's not fitting. He may never even see you. Hmm. _She winced suddenly as he clamped down a bit to hard upon her nipple. _You've got some power to you already. You'll be a strong Dug one day. Maybe you'll even get out of here, away from this house, and away from the Gran too._ That thought seemed to stick with her and she found that she quite liked the idea of her son escaping the rule of the Gran. _I'll name you Zebthra_. She smiled down at him. _Liberated._

True to her word, Sundsin reappeared around ten o'clock that morning, laden with Hox fruit and a few strips of Teemesh meat. She entered the small room looking harassed.

"Veeak's in a bad mood." She said bitterly, as she passed the platter of food up to Tansaca who found her appetite now raging.

"Because I'm not working?" She asked, ravenously biting into the strips of meat.

"That and some business deal he made went sour."

"Oh."

Sundsin watched her curiously. "Is the baby awake? I wanted to see him again if I could."

Tansaca looked down and saw that Zebthra had dozed off, warm and milk-full against her chest. "He's asleep again but you can come up if you want to."

Sundsin smiled slightly and climbed up to the second hammock, holding on to the support ropes with all of her limbs. "Has he even woken up today?"

"Once. He was hungry." Tansaca explained.

"Have you decided what to call him?"

"Zebthra."

Sundsin regarded the little Dug. "I hope he does end up liberated—he won't get anything if he stays here. It's a good name." She said with a nod. "Speaking of which…I should go back. Veeak will have a nexu if I don't have the foyer spotless within the hour. He's having an important guest over this afternoon."

Tansaca nodded as the younger female departed, once again leaving her alone with her son. Only once before had she ever had a day off in her life, and then she had been too ill to even move. With a warm and contented baby snuggled against her, she enjoyed this day off far more.

Worlds away another mother was running for her life. The female Twi'lek ran as best she could, hindered by her protruding stomach—at eight months pregnant, it was all she could do to run the length of the grimy city block without collapsing from exhaustion. But she had no choice in the matter. She could either run, or turn back and accept the fate that her master would bestow her. She did not fancy the prospect of being sold yet again to an even worse master, or the very real chance of being forced to give up her unborn child. She did not mind being beaten; she had been beaten before. But she would not give up her child.

Many of her fellow dancers had not understood her adamant refusal to lose the child early, or to at least give it up upon birth. To them, the prospect of an unwanted birth, the product of an unwanted encounter with one of their master's drunken guests no less, was a thing of great shame. Not only that, it put her value in the eyes of master Tragis as something below that of a poison tester. She had not been in very good stead, not at all.

Halai herself could not quite understand why she wouldn't agree with her fellow dancers suggestions. She had no money, nowhere to run, just thinking about the Twi'lek male who had forced himself on her and had sired her child made her feel ill, and her master had become increasingly annoyed with her inability to properly dance. No—no one would blame her for aborting, or selling the child. But for some inexplicable reason, she could not.

She had never truly bonded with any of the other dancers. Most of these were Twi'lek so there was some comradity there if only because of the shared ancestry but they were so determined to keep on master Tragis's good side that they tended to think only about their own gain and the best way that they themselves could profit from a given situation. Any bonds formed between them were superficial and liable to crumble the moment the master's whims changed. There were two Rodian females, but they kept mostly to themselves, conversing in their native tongue and casting their huge dark eyes about their surroundings as though plotting to break out at any moment. The master had gotten lucky and won an exquisitely beautiful Zeltron, whose actions on and off the dance floor often repulsed Halai. The Zeltron, Nehna, seemed to truly love her lot in life as plaything of the rich and corrupt, and would throw her self at even the most repulsive of beings. Her inexhaustible cries often kept Halai up at night.

It was nighttime on Nar Shadda that Halai hated the most. In those deep hours before dawn when the master and his group of sycophants had finally fallen into a drugged, drunken stupor, it was quiet enough to think. If she was awake, and sleep had been harder to come by as her pregnancy furthered, she found herself wondering how her life had come to this. She sometimes dreamed of her life when she had been a child. Her parents had been wealthy and lived in an estate-apartment on Corescant. She dreamed of the fountain she had loved to splash in, the whisper bird her father had bought for her from one of Corescants many exotic animal traders, the way the sunlight glinted off the huge gleaming buildings in vibrant oranges and pinks.

But her father had made a few enemies; not all of his business deals had been legal. He had been killed. She vividly remembered entering their ransacked home with her mother to find him lying face down in a pool of his blood, a clean blaster shot to his head, and surrounded by thugs of many different species. She and her mother had then been taken, sold to a life of slavery and humiliation.

Tears still stung her eyes when she remembered the day she'd turned twelve and had been purchased by a seedy Corellian gangster and had been taken, screaming, from her mother, who remained behind with their previous Hutt master. Often, at night, she wondered if her mother was still alive or if…

Other times she awoke to the image of her father, the hole in his head still bleeding, his body, limp. Times like these, adult or not, she wanted to run to one of the other dancers, shake them awake, profess her deep fear and sadness and to be comforted from her woes. But that allusion had long since passed; no one here would comfort her.

After becoming pregnant though, she lay awake at night and felt the tiny being stirring within her and she smiled to herself. She knew other dancers that had been forced felt only hatred towards their fetus as it reminded them of the rape and they lost it as soon as possible. Halai did not blame the fetus although she strove to keep all thoughts involving the father from her mind or else risk depression. She would hold her hands clasped over her steadily growing stomach and hum tunes she had learned what seemed like lifetimes ago and tell her child that it wouldn't know the hardness of a masters hand, or the fear of being sold. She promised it a life worth living. She promised it hope. As if in recognition of its mother's wishes, the fetus would stir. The feeling gave her comfort when nothing else did and her resolve for a better life for her child gave her strength where apathy and bitterness had once dwelt. No, she could never give it up, either through abortion or through selling it. It was hers; the only thing in the galaxy that she owned and she would die before allowing harm to come to it.

Tragis Of'gan proved to be the problem. Her Bothan master desired all of his possessions to be transcendent in beauty, grace and poise. Once he noticed the slight bulge to Halai's form he was quick to interrogate her. Painfully, she described the situation and the male who had forced himself on her, feeling tears brimming in her eyes but refusing to let them fall. She felt such hatred towards Tragis that she did not dare show weakness of any kind around him. He had then beaten her, as she knew he would, for possibly being so foolish as to allow such a thing to happen. Halai bit back furious retorts that it was _he_ who had wanted her to dance for the Twi'lek and impress him, not _her_. She held every one of her cries inside. Afterwards he had told her to abort it. She defied him passionately.

When it became obvious to Tragis that Halai showed no intention of losing her fetus, he had contemplated sedating her and having a medical droid do it anyway. After all she was a wonderful dancer, seductive but not trashy. He knew some of his patrons enjoyed such shows and many requested her dances more than once. But he would be damned if was going to _pay _for such a thing. He had other dancers after all, all of them beautiful and graceful. Personally, he had trouble distinguishing between Twi'leks and if he were to sell her, he himself would no more miss her than he would a flea spider. Her stomach was making dancing impossible for her and if she could not work, she did not stay. Feeding and clothing a slave when that slave did no work was ludicrous. If the child was female, he was certain he could get a buyer for her—the child could be trained from an early age as a dancer. But if the child was male—well, he'd find_some _gangster or crime lord to take her off his hands. He might even be able to make a profit.

Halai had greatly feared for herself and her unborn child then. She had heard it from some of the other dancers that Tragis was planning on selling her but had so far been unable to find a buyer willing to pay for a Twi'lek dancer that could not dance and was prone to throwing up several times a day. Halai was both heartened by this and fearful_. Maybe_, she had dared to hope, _maybe no one will want me and I'll be able to have my baby. But what would Tragis do then? Would he force me to loose it? Or maybe he will find a buyer…and only the most desperate and disgusting being would put up with a pregnant dancer slave. _How ever she looked at the situation, there was no pleasant outcome for her or her child. _I'll have to get away…I'll be on the street…but I'll be my _own_master there._ It was a mark of her desperation that she was even considering running out into the slum and crime ridden streets of Nar Shadda with no credits and expecting.

For a time, it seemed that she might not have to make that decision—for at seven months into her pregnancy, Tragis won the Zeltron, Nehna, in a game of sabacc from a fellow crime lord. Nehnas willingness to dance for and to pleasure any being distracted Tragis for several weeks. Halai hoped he might forget her, or possibly be lenient enough to let her have her baby, now that his newest acquisition was receiving such rave reviews. She knew this was a foolish hope, and it was proved just that when Tragis called her to his chambers to announce that he had found a buyer for her. When he elaborated that the buyer was an up and coming Hutt crime lord with a penchant for leasing slaves out for sex with certain of his clients, her mind was immediately made up.

Which had then led to her current situation. Halai was stumbling now, she was vaguely aware of it, down a narrow alleyway. Her feet skidded on refuse, garbage and things she could not even name. She had fought to put as much distance as she could between Tragis's manor and herself before morning, and her lack of credits meant that she must do that on foot. Air taxis didn't operate out of the kindness of their hearts. Panic roiled within her. She dreaded the though that Tragis would hunt her down, although inwardly she thought that he must be glad to be rid of her regardless of the lost credits. Mostly, she feared that another being, or group of beings would come across her and absorb her right back into the slave trade. She plodded on and on, with no clear idea of where she was heading or what she was going to do. Desperation drove her onwards. _Don't worry, young one, I won't let them take you from me. No one can take you from me._

"Hey there sweetheart, need a hand?"

Halai had been so doggedly pursuing her chosen path that she had failed to clearly focus upon her surroundings. Her head whipped upwards, lekku falling across her back. Two beings stood shadowed before her, one smoking a roll of something foul smelling, the other leaning coolly against the grimy permacrete of the nearest building. She halted immediately, glancing about for any means of escape. The way she had come was clear, although the thought of running back towards Tragis made her break out in a sweat.

"Now, now, sweetheart. We won't hurt you. Just come on over an we'll take good care of you." The smoking being said.

"Stay back! Stay away from me!" Halai bit out. Fear for her child lent her voice a threatening edge. Shaking, she removed a blaster she had stolen from one of Tragis's guards—she had never been so glad for the Gamorreans stupidity. Her hand shook around the grip and the two figures noticed.

"Hey, come on now. I bet you've never even fired one of those have you?" The smoker said again. He stepped boldly from the deep shadows cast by a flickering glow lamp. He was human, paunchy, greasy haired and pockmarked. His hand rested lightly on his own, and much more practiced blaster.

"I wouldn't want to find out if I were you." Halai said, taking a tentative step backwards.

"Ooh, she feisty." The second being said and now he too strode forwards into the weak light. He was a large, powerfully built Devaronian, dressed in some type of reptile skin that hung close to his intimidating frame. He leered at her, showing mossy fangs.

"I'm warning you!" Halai said, both hands now tight upon the quivering blaster.

"Please, Yum-Yum, I take one bite and you gone." The Devaronian made a lewd gesture with his long tongue. Shaking all over now, Halai took another step backwards. The Human moved closer and the Devaronian dropped all pretenses and took two quick steps so that he was right in front of her.

It happened so quickly that for a moment Halai was only aware of the acrid stench of ozone and the Devaronians cries of pain. She stole one terrified glance at the refuse littered floor of the alley to find the Devaronian clutching his upper left chest, black blood oozing in between his thick red fingers. She turned and ran.

Hurtling frantically down the alleyway back the direction she had come, Halai could hear incoherent shouting from the human and moans of pain from the Devaronian but these were drowned out by the rampant thudding of her heart. She'd never shot anyone before. Immediately the image of her fathers gunned down corpse flashed before her minds eye. She wanted to throw up and had to fight the urge to fling the blaster away in disgust and horror. The commotion of the blaster shot and the ensuing ruckus of her two would-be-attackers would be sure to draw attention. She whipped down a side alley and faded into the darkness once more, her twin lekku sliding out of sight.


	2. Servitude, Freedom

AN: Well, if you got past the first chapter, I thank you for reading on. I'm not entirely sure where I'm going with this, but I think it will be a fun process regardless. Please feel free to review and critique. It'd make my day if you did!

-Eitak

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"Yes, I understand that you thickskulled wretch," the Gran, Veeak bit out as he massaged his eye stalks, "what I want to know, is why she should have a _second _day off."

Valhan swallowed deeply, struggling as she always did, with keeping her rage under enough control that she did not end up throttling the life out of the Gran.

"Because, sir, she is very weak. She was not well nourished and it was a difficult birth." Valhan said.

The Gran regarded her over the top of his highly lacquered desk. His mouth tightened in what she had come to understand as an expression of disgust.

"Then she shouldn't have gotten pregnant. I kept all females for that express purpose and still,_still_, one of you manages to. Undisciplined, unrestrained animals."

"She could serve you better if she were allowed just one more day to rest."

"And what of the brat? Eh? She going to be dragging the miserable little thing around with her? How do you think that will look to my mate? To our guests?"

Valhan closed her eyes for patience and shifted her weight. "The baby will be no trouble. He is healthy and good natured and—"

"Good natured, ha." Veeak snorted. His ears swiveled forward to regard his servant. It was commonly known across the galaxy that Dugs were rarely good-natured. "It will cost me, you know—food for yet another mouth. In payment for this, the brat will have to sign on."

"He is too young to work—"

"I know it, but as soon as he is able, he will start to repay his debt."

A million different curses wound through Valhan's head. 'Signing on' was akin to signing ones life away. One became indebted, unable to ever pay off loans and living expenses as servants were paid such minute wages that they could scarcely afford fresh blankets or changes of personal clothing. Paying off living wages was impossible and so generations of Dugs became enslaved. The knowledge that the tiny creature she had just helped into the world already owed a lifetime of servitude to this Gran and his descendants made her blood boil.

"Then Tansaca may have another day of rest?" She said coolly, betraying none of the rage coursing through her.

"Did I say that?" Veeak absentmindedly plugged a data card into his vid screen and rested his chin in his palm. "A half-day. No more. You know as well as I do that the business party is tomorrow. There is much to be done. Brat or no, she'll do her part."

"Yes, sir." Valhan said, inclining her long head and shooting him a glare of pure venom. Veeak did not notice, he never did—his Dug laborers were below such attention.

Valhan turned and headed out of the grand, circular room. She irritably pushed open a small service door in the main hall, which blended perfectly with the colorful paintings that adorned it. She knew that Gran were supposed to be able to see colors into the infrared range; she figured that was the only excuse for such garish color combinations. The dimly lit utility corridor led to the kitchens, washrooms, storerooms and so on and these were built to be accessible only to Dug laborers; the Gran had no need to dirty their own hands. Valhan strode into the kitchen to find Sundsin frantically counting their stores on certain Gran foodstuffs, in preparation for the aforementioned dinner party that their master had been planning for the better part of a month.

"We're short of Goatgrass, grak vines," she paused to rummage through other storage units, "_and_cheerli roots. _Baktashpa kreet!_" She spat.

Valhan partially ignored the younger Dugs curse, lost in bitterness in the unfairness of their servitude. She wondered if Zebthra would behave as she had told Veeak he would. Veeak did not take humiliation well, especially not in front of his business peers. Having a Dug unable to serve because of a fidgety youngster would reflect badly upon him, and he would end up disciplining them.

"Did you hear, Valhan?" Sundsin called, now high atop the cooler.

She nodded, an aggravated jerk of the head. "You'd better head to the vendors. Get the freshest of everything and more than we need. I don't want to give him an excuse to get upset."

"He's always upset. Well, at least at us he is." Sundsin said, climbing agilely down from her perch.

"You want it to be worse? It can always be worse. Get to town." Valhan bit out. Sundsin glared at her slightly, but switched on the small repulsor lift they used for heavy shopping and began to maneuver it out of the utility corridor.

"Did he give Tansaca more time?" Sundsin called as she guided the lift out of view.

"Half a day. She'll be lucky if she can carry a pitcher of weedsap without falling." Valhan said.

"The stupid goat." Sundsin called, and with a clang of the door leading into the main hall, she was gone.

Valhan inwardly agreed. She took further stock of their supplies and decided the cutlery would need polishing. The good dishes and troughs were stacked carefully in one of the ten vertical storage units, sealed away from all dust and damage. There was not much to be done as far as food preparation until the day of the party. She could always start scrubbing the floors, but the thought of Veeaks five children running across it and scuffling it up put the thought from her mind. She would save that for later this evening, when the stupid younglings were ready to go to bed and she could be free from their harassment. The table in the dining hall had already been buffed to a mirror shine, the plants trimmed and watered, the strange sculptures of hideous colors that the Gran called 'art' had been dusted, the floor swept. Yes, most everything aside from the shopping, which was being taken care of now, could wait until the day of.

Heaving a sigh, she scraped together a meal for herself and for Tansaca and headed down the utility corridor to their minute chambers.

Tansaca was still curled in her hammock, the blanket drawn tightly about her. She turned her head towards the door as it shot up, and upon seeing that it was just Valhan, relaxed once more.

"You get another half day's rest. I tried for more, but he wouldn't have it." Valhan said, climbing into her lower hammock.

Tansaca grunted in response. "So long as I don't have to do any lifting."

"I'll do the lifting. Here, eat." She poked the bottom of Tansaca's hammock and the other female lazily lowered her leg, grasped the plate that had been prepared for her and brought it up. They ate in silence for some time before Valhan spoke.

"Are you feeling any stronger?" This was a subject that she had feared to broach. Tansaca remained silent as she ate, as if considering just what to say.

"No. But," she added hastily, as if sensing Valhan's unease, "with rest and food, I'm sure I'll recover."

"I hope you're right. Are your wounds healing at least?"

"Yes, a little. It still stings a bit when I use the refresher unit, but not nearly as bad as yesterday."

"Good." Valhan nodded to herself. "And Zebthra?"

"He's fine. Nursing right now, that seems to be about all he does."

"Well, he's got a lot of growing to do. His eyes will open soon enough but he'll nurse for a good while yet." They sat in a comfortable silence once more, each lost to their own thoughts. Tansaca fidgeted after a few minutes and looked down at her companion, still cradling Zebthra to her chest.

"Do you think…" Tansaca trailed off.

"Do I think, what?"

"Do you think that I'll see Brekasa again?"

It pained Tansaca to ask such a question. They had been mated in a hurry, but Dugs remained fiercely loyal to each other. He'd belonged to a visiting Gran who'd stayed for many months and she had hoped that perhaps he'd be able to stay for even longer. The thought that Brekasa might not see his son was horrible to her.

"I don't know. It's possible Veeak might ask that Gran back, and that he might bring Brekasa with him again."

"But you don't think so, do you." It was not a question.

"No, I don't." Valhan agreed.

The next day, preparations for the dinner party were well underway. Sundsin busied her self with setting the table, Valhan with preparing the disgusting grassy soups and pastas that she'd never been able to stomach, and Tansaca with setting up the guestrooms. Gran took an incredible amount of time to eat and digest a meal. Veeak would insist that his guests stay for at least a few days to rest up and recover from their digestive ordeal.

As Tansaca shook out a fresh roll of bedclothes, an unpleasant combination of lime greens, maroons and violent purples, the baby clinging solidly to her neck let out a pitiful wail. She patted him slightly, jostling him into a more comfortable position as she rounded the bedside to tuck in the sheets.

"Shh." She soothed softly and spared a second to look down at him. Zeb, as she had taken to calling him in her head, raised his head weakly and his little nostrils flared. "That's right, I'm still here. Now go back to sleep so I can finish this room." The baby fidgeted slightly, burrowing his snout into his mother's collarbone. Unable to find a nipple there, he let out whimper of frustration.

Sighing, Tansaca paused in her work, adjusted the sling she wore draped across her chest and placed Zeb snuggly inside it so that he could nurse. Now satisfied, Zeb became still and quiet and Tansaca was able to begin dusting everything in the room.

Their master had spared no expense in the guest rooms—they were nearly as nice as his own bedchambers. The beds sat on a raised dais, three long ovular windows stretched from floor to ceiling, a large refresher unit sat off in a niche of its own, a vid screen hung from a wall opposite the bed and more horrible pieces of art stood on richly carved pedestals. The air quality, humidity and temperature were all controlled via access to the home droid, which was nothing more than a large squarish box that linked into every room in the building. She checked the blinking lights to make sure that the Gran to inhabit this room would feel comfortable.

She cleaned the refresher unit with some pain—forceful scrubbing caused her to ache deeply inside, but she gritted her teeth and got on with it. If it weren't done properly now, she would have to redo it and suffer added work as punishment later. Satisfied that this room was well stocked and prepared, she headed down the hall to the next of the five guest rooms. Grans did love their company. They were social enough to make Tansaca's head spin; she could not fathom being so dependant on other beings for happiness. She considered them emotionally weak, especially when Veeaks mate, Ras Kaa, moaned and complained insufferably every time Veeak had to leave for more than two days on business. Tansaca herself had not seen her mate for over four months and she imagined Ras Kaa would die of loneliness in the same situation. She often found herself fantasizing about this.

Heading now into the third room, Tansaca looked down at her son and found him asleep, his head resting upon her breast and obviously incredibly comfortable. She smiled slightly and tried to be as gentle as possible while cleaning this room. She succeeded in not waking him and, wiping cleaning solutions from her cracked fingertips, she plodded back into the main hall feeling weary all through. She wanted desperately to sit down, perhaps take a nap, but that would never be allowed. The guests would be arriving shortly.

Her ears twitched suddenly as noise erupted from behind her. Three of Veeaks children came racing down the hall, laughing their strange stuttering, bleating laughter. Tansaca instinctively held Zebthra closer to her; annoyed at the youngling's presence and hoping they would pass her by without incident.

"Hey, it's Tanny!" The eldest boy, 12 years old, shouted and skidded to a halt next to her. She stiffened and glared at the child who was already taller than she herself was.

The boy, Aag Ri, looked down at her haughtily, already well learned in his superiority over their Dug servants. "Aren't you supposed to ask if we need anything?" He demanded. The other two children laughed.

"Well do you?" Tansaca growled. She prayed to every god she'd ever heard of for patience.

"No, but what's that?" He said and pointed to the sling over her chest and the baby within it. "Ew, no way, it's a little Dug! Let me see it."

"No." Tansaca said, clutching Zeb more closely still. "Let me alone, I have work to do for your father."

"Dad wouldn't like that you disobeyed an order." Aag Ri said, hands on his wide hips.

"Your father gives the orders. I obey his over yours." Tansaca said and walked off leaving the three children looking disgruntled and sulky. She breathed a sigh of relief as she headed into the utility corridor leading to the kitchens. She could not imagine handing over Zeb to some spoiled Gran child. The thought of what they might have done, accidentally or not, made her shiver.

She found Valhan in a foul mood, but most of the cooking was now complete. The elder female was busy laboring over the last course—a dessert composed of a sautéed frilly yellow fungus and sweet root sauce. Valhan mopped at her brow as she squeezed the sauce in a decorative pattern over the plate and fungus, sweating from the heat of the multiple ovens and broilers. Satisfied that she had enough now to go around, Valhan loaded the plates onto an ornate silver serving tray and leaned against the counter taking stock of the meal before her. She noticed Tansaca sitting wearily upon a sack of grain with a start.

"When did you come in?" She demanded.

"A few minutes ago. I needed to rest, and get away from the younglings."

Valhan made a "hmmph" sound deep in her throat and shook her head. "Keep Zebthra away from them. They'll think he's a toy."

"I know, that's why I'm in here. Aag Ri wanted to see him badly."

"He's the worst of all of them. Thinks the suns revolve around him." She cocked her head, looking at Tansaca in some concern. "Are you alright?"

Tansaca nodded. "Just tired. This is the first day after the birth that I've had to do anything."

Valhan accepted her answer although her worry was not assuaged. She had hoped that some of Tansaca's energy and strength would return after the birth but the new mother looked as frail as she had for months. Usually females regained their old vigor quickly. Valhan suspected permanent damage via lack of nutrition, but did not dare say so for fear of worrying Tansaca into greater weakness.

Sundsin broke the brittle silence, bounding into the room and announcing, "They're starting to arrive."

Valhan moved as though an electric current had been forced through her. She grabbed one end of the trough full of broiled Goatgrass and commanded Sundsin to take the other. Together the two of them hauled it through the door and into the corridor. Tansaca patted Zeb, worried to her core that the baby would cry or make a commotion when they were supposed to remain dutifully background. The baby slept soundly. Relieved, she grabbed the platter of deserts and followed after the other two. Two more return trips were necessary to deliver all of the drinks and foodstuffs to the dining hall where Veeak, Ras Kaa and their five children sat accompanied by five other Gran, all them eyeing the steaming feast before them longingly. They conversed heartily, laughing, and swapping stories from their different clans.

After the table had been loaded, the three Dugs had nothing to do but sit back against the ovular rooms perimeter and wait for commands.

"And did you know the Gran of the homeworld are denying now that we are even true Gran?" Said one of Veeaks guests as she loaded a plate with a sopping mound of Goatgrass.

Veeak snorted a laugh as he nodded and grabbed one of the frilly yellow fungus deserts. "Oh I heard alright. Ridiculous as anything I've ever heard. They claim we're corrupt and unjust to the natives eh? More of that tripe."

"Exactly that." The other Gran said between a mouthful, "Of course, I dare them to live amongst these ingrates and remain levelheaded and pacifistic."

All three of the Dugs bristled but they went unnoticed. Nearly an hour passed as the Gran ate and drank and whiled away the time with small talk. At last, the most important Gran that Veeak had invited could not stand dancing around the point any longer.

"Anyway, you said you had some business to discuss with my clan, Veeak?"

"I do indeed. I know that you have friendly ties with the shipping company, Kuat Drive Yards. I'm looking to expand my own range of business and a contact within Kuat would be greatly appreciated." Veeak led.

"My clan would be happy to assist you, of course, but it would be a risky thing to suggest. We would want some compensation for our efforts. I'm sure you understand."

"Oh yes, and make no mistake, my clan will be happy to offer you such compensation. A share of our profits would be wired directly to your accounts. Ten percent."

"15." The other Gran began to haggle.

"12, and not a bit more." Veeak said.

"I respectfully accept 12 percent of your earnings and will gladly contact our representative within Kuat." The Gran bowed his head.

"Our clan is honored to have done business with you." Veeak grinned. "This calls for a toast. Tansaca, more Weedsap!"

Tansaca had all but dozed off during the discussion of actual business dealings, but snapped to attention at once. Valhan and Sundsin watched her leave in concern. Her exhaustion was obvious to them, but of course the Gran took no notice. She returned carrying a large pitcher of the smelly Weedsap, walking slowly and carefully to avoid dropping it.

"Come on, Dug, hurry it up, my guests are thirsty." Veeak shouted. He had clearly already had too much of the last pitcher of Weedsap for his pale face was flushed with color and he spoke more loudly than was called for.

Tansaca tried to hurry her gait, her agitation showing plain. She had reached the table when several things happened at once. Zeb gave a cry, which startled her so much that her body jerked. The movement brought a deep stab of pain within her and she lost her grip on one of the handles. The pitcher swung haphazardly, slopping Weedsap all over the nearest Gran. Tansaca froze in horror as every one of the twelve faces at the table swung towards her, looking aghast. Veeaks face had bypassed aghast and instead became furious, his triple eyes bulging.

"DUG!" He roared. "Apologize to our guest!"

Tansaca immediately turned towards the now soaking Gran who eyed her as if she had personally insulted every member of his family. "I offer my humble apologies to the Gran I have offended." She said. It was a well-rehearsed phrase to her lips. Zeb continued to cry and his mewling wails seemed to grate upon the nerves of every Gran present. Valhan and Sundsin looked mortified although they remained stoically in place.

Veeak had gotten up from his seat and lurched towards Tansaca; raising his heavy six fingered hand as he did so. Tansaca instinctively curled her neck over Zebthra to shield him from the blow. Veeak hit her hard across the face and she sprawled across the highly polished tiles, teeth gritted in pain, but still clutching Zeb to her protectively. Valhan could stand it no more and she rushed forwards, pulling Tansaca up, and offering a bow to Veeak.

"We will take this unworthy servant back to our quarters so she does not further insult your exalted guests." Valhan said carefully. She would not risk showing her anger for Tansacas sake. Valhan steered an unsteady Tansaca from the room, while Sundsin darted about grabbing cloths and cleaning solutions to save the affronted Grans soaked clothing.

"Wait here, rest." Valhan said to Tansaca as the door to their quarters shot upwards. "We'll handle Veeak, you just rest."

Tansaca climbed into her hammock, face throbbing where Veeak had hit her, body aching deeply, and Zebthra wailing loudly.

Halai leaned wearily against a grime-smeared wall of permacrete, more exhausted, both mentally and physically, than she could ever remember being. After her escape from the two thugs a few hours previous, she had kept constantly on the move, winding ever deeper into the heart of Nar Shadda, taking lifts where she could find them and hoping to find a spaceport before she collapsed into the gutter. Others had watched her progress, but perhaps the fierce and frantic determination upon her face had kept them back. Or perhaps it had been her pregnancy. Very few beings were attracted to females at such late stages in their pregnancies. She had only been questioned, rudely, a few more times but the blaster clenched tight in her hand kept them at bay.

She had never been gladder to be out of her skimpy dancing costume. Halai had doffed it for one of Tragis's tunics and leggings that she had stolen from the washrooms. The pants fitted her loosely, but the tunic fit her expanded midsection comfortably. Combined with a belt she had snitched from a heap of clothing laying outside of Nehnas room, and a traveling cloak, the only bare skin she was showing was that of her head and hands. She looked dumpy, ill tempered and desperate and she was thankful for it. The less attractive she seemed, the better.

Her bleary, deep orange eyes, had begun to itch and she rubbed them forcefully, trying to squelch any sleepiness from them. Shaking her head slightly, she took stock of her surroundings for what seemed like the hundredth time since her escape. She was now about 40 levels up from the squalid bottom; the glow lamps offered bright, sharp beams to light her path and there was less garbage but still, it was not a pleasant place. She could see bars, arms dealers, cantinas, entertainment vendors (that she gave a wide distance) and dilapidated housing units. Spice dealers lurked around nearly every corner, glancing shiftily about. But there, in the distance, just past the permacrete she was now leaning against stood a large triangular building covered in landing platforms, searchlights and the smaller blinking lights of various spacecrafts.

At last, she'd found a spaceport. She hurried towards it doggedly, her swollen ankles protesting every step but she was beyond noticing. Halai did not know how exactly she was going to get off the moon, but she'd manage it. She couldn't stand the thought of what would happen to her and her child if she failed to escape, and she refused to let such thoughts enter her mind.

Where on the lower levels she had been mostly alone, on the main skywalk leading towards the spaceport there was a virtual parade of creatures. Some walked purposely as she did, with hard looks upon their faces, others staggered about, weaving drunkenly, some were running flat out as though a rancor were right behind them. A few small children pattered around the worn surface as well, holding out their hands or other grasping appendages and looking miserable as they begged. Older children darted about, picking pockets with ease. _Let them go ahead and pick mine_, Halai thought, _they won't find anything_. There were so many different species that Halai began to truly understand why Nar Shadda was also called 'little Corescant'.

_Surely, with all these beings coming and going, surely I can sneak on to one ship_. The nearer she got to the looming and mercilessly noisy spaceport, the surer she became of this idea. There were just too many ships landing and taking off, too many people for every ship to be watched constantly, no matter how hard the pilots tried. There were no security sensors lining the main entrance—no doubt, the spaceport administrators too had realized the futility of such an act on such a dangerous moon.

The first of 12 large hangers consisted of 20 docking bays each. The ships coming and going from the first of these were droid manned, carrying parts and supplies, and were unpressurized. She passed these on having no desire to die such a grizzly death. She jostled her way past a huge Askajian woman, holding onto three cubs, while her equally large mate held onto the other three. She passed more spice dealers, saw slavers unloading a group of frightened looking young Twi'leks and felt the bile rise in her throat. They did not look to be much older than she had been when she had been taken. The understanding that this trade took place in the middle of a packed spaceport, in plain view of many thousands of sentient creatures and went unpunished made her feel momentarily faint. Halai knew it happened, had experienced it herself, but seeing it again brought home how lucky she was to have escaped her master. _I wish there was something I could do for them_, she thought.

The second hanger was full of large transport ships carrying all manner of seedy looking creatures. Halai did not particularly want to go on one of these. She had heard too many stories of shipfuls of people being robbed in the deepness of open space and then held hostage for gods knew what. No, she hoped to find a ship piloted by _one _being. One being she might be able to hold off, might even be able to convince to help her. Against hundreds she had no chance.

She passed the transport ships and thought she might have found what she was looking for upon seeing the third hanger. All manner of midsize ships were docked here—some would probably need two to pilot them, but others were clearly personal ships piloted only by one. She scouted them out quickly, taking note of which hatches were open and also of the more dangerous looking pilots that she felt she should avoid. Two Trandoshins helmed one brutally sharp looking ship and Halai immediately wrote that one off. A Toydarian flitted annoyingly around another, smaller ship, watching agitatedly as his cargo was loaded onto it. She decided against that one too; Toydarians loved to gamble and she was sure he would seize her as a 'lucky' gift. She saw an old Sullustan male going in and out of the hatch of a small, sleek craft, carrying his cargo slowly. _That one, _she decided.

Halai moved swiftly into the hanger, ducking behind crates of cargo, fuel cells and the bulky legs of various landing apparatus. Most pilots were too busy with refueling or reloading to discern her from the general crowd. She crouched behind a stack of crates, directly behind the Sullustans ship, which she noticed was titled _Gundark Gunner_, and studied the pilot's movements to determine when it would be safe to break cover and run into the ship. The little, jowly creature stomped up the ramp, deposited a heavy crate and then there was a pause. Halai figured he must have been stopping to catch his breath. The next moment, he was back down the ramp and squatting to pick up another heavy crate. She watched him for a few more minutes to be sure that she had his pattern memorized. On his next descent from the ramp, and subsequent squatting to pick up another crate, Halai sprinted as fast as she could out from behind her hiding place, up the ramp and into the ship. She had only a precious few seconds to hide herself. She saw the cargo hold, which was nearly packed full by this point and dashed into it, tucking herself into a niche made between two of the crates. She was so surrounded by cargo that she felt relatively safe. He wouldn't see her unless he purposely decided to go to the backmost corner of the hold and poke his head in between the crates. Of course, safe was a relative term—she didn't let her self think about what would happen if he discovered her.

The Sullustian entered the room thrice more, shoving in heavy crates as he did so. He did not come close to her hiding place. She heard a mechanical whooshing sound as the cargo hold door came down and a muffled clank as the hatch door closed. _This is it_, Halai breathed as the landing gear began to nosily retract, _I'm free! I'm free of Tragis and Nar Shadda!_ There was a deep whine from behind her as the engines revved and then, with a jerk, the ship leapt skywards. As the sub light engines kicked in, and Halai felt the pull of the moons gravity field as they sped into space, she closed her eyes and slept for what seemed like the first time in ages.

Halai awoke feeling clammy and disoriented. It took her several terrified moments to realize where she was and what was happening. _I'm in the Sullustans ship, going who knows where, but it can't be worse than what I've left behind. _She took a deep breath; still feeling a bit light headed, and sat up. The chill of space had gotten to her, and she was glad of the heavier clothing she had stolen from her former master. Obviously the Sullustian didn't bother controlling the temperature in the cargo hold. Her breath misted from her as she stood unsteadily, wondering if she might somehow find another article of clothing. Halai wobbled around the room, feeling the engines throbbing beneath her feet, and began to open the few cabinets the hold presented her. She got lucky; one of the cabinets held a workman's jumper. It was much too small for her, being designed for the average Sullustan, but she took it with her and curled under it anyways.

_I wonder what I'll do now…I don't have any credits. Perhaps if it's a more civilized world, I could find a job somewhere…start saving. _It was a terrifying prospect, to start all over on an unknown planet with no credits and no one to ask for help. It was going to be difficult but—she held her bulging stomach—she had no choice. She lay under the orange jumper, feeling disquieted and uneasy and wondered just how long she had been asleep and how much of the journey there was yet to go. Then a strange pain wound its way through her middle, a shuddering, tightening pain.

She gasped, sitting up, and clutching at her stomach. _No! _ She thought desperately, _not now!_ But she had little doubt as to what that pain had signified. Terrified she remained absolutely still, waiting for another pain. It took a while, over half an hour, but it came, and it left no doubt in her mind at what was to come. She was going to give birth as a stowaway, in the middle of space, with no help. She forced herself to relax. Halai had questioned some of the other slaves who had given birth before about the process, things she should and shouldn't do. Right now she was supposed to lie down and be relaxed. She could force her body into some type of relaxation, but not her mind and every scenario that could possibly go wrong danced before her eyes relentlessly. The seventeen-year-old wished, with an emotional pang, that her mother were with her.

The Sullustan set the ship to auto pilot as it sped through space. The vastness of the darkness before him, broken only by a few pinpricks of distant light disguised the velocity at which the _Gundark Gunner_ traveled; it seemed as though the vessel was hardly moving forwards at all. But he did not mind. He was too practiced a spice smuggler to be concerned with the emptiness. The chance of attack was slim to null and he looked forwards to deep space travel as a chance to relax. Leaving the deck, he plodded wearily through the narrow, metallic corridor of his ship, bypassing the refresher unit and choosing instead the small sitting room/bedroom that lay directly behind the deck. If his alarm went off, he'd be able to get back into the pilots chair in a hurry.

He'd made the trip from Nar Shadda, to pick up spice of all varieties, to the delivery planet of Corellia more times than he could count. Pirates had attacked him enough over the years to prove him a light sleeper and as he pressed off the lights in his 'relaxation room' as he called it, he fell heavily into his bed and slept for hours.

He wasn't sure what had awoken him. His great, glossy black eyes blinked rapidly and his large, round ears swiveled about. It hadn't been the alarm warning him of an approaching ship, or the comm. unit sending him approach vectors. Perhaps the ship had creaked or groaned. He hoped not; the last time it had creaked in hyperspace, he had been lucky to make it to the nearest planet for repairs. He sat solidly still, straining to hear another sound. Pursing his lips, he had just decided to lie back down when he caught it again. Just the barest trace of a sound—but it was not a sound from his ship. No, this was organic in nature.

Rattled, he silently got up from bed, pulled on his jumper and strapped on his blaster holster. His blaster he held ready in his hand as he moved stealthily in to the narrow hallway. Arms raised he spun towards the deck, but it was as empty as he'd left it. Immediately he swung around in the opposite direction so that his blaster was pointing to the exit ramp and the engines. He kept still as a nexu before the pounce, every sense on edge, waiting to hear the sound once more. The next time he heard it, he pinpointed it as coming from the cargo hold at once. His mind whirred into overdrive. What on Sullust could possibly be in there? And why aren't they bothering to keep quiet? Is this a trap?

He typed in the code for the cargo hold and stood to the side of the frame as the door shot upwards. Letting his blaster precede him into the room, he edged cautiously around leering stacks of crates. There it was again, and now he recognized it as a sound of pain. Slowly, he wound his way to the backmost jumble of crates. He saw the edge of a cloak lying on the floor behind one only a few feet before him.

Immediately enraged that he had a stowaway (and probably using his valuable spice, no less!) the old Sullustian stomped forwards, reached into the nook, and, amidst cries of fear and pain, hulled out a young Twi'leki woman. He eyed her terrified face in shock before remembering his previous flair of indignation.

"Stowaway!" He yelled in basic, hoping the disheveled woman at least understood that much. "Stowaway on my ship!" He grabbed her by the collar of her tunic and slammed her up against the nearest crate, looking as threatening as a Sullustan could ever manage.

"P-please," she choked out, her eyes wild with fear, "please, I-I had t-to"

"To what? Rob me of my cargo? Hijack the ship when you were sure I was asleep?" He roared and gave her a shake for good measure.

"No! I had to g-get off planet!" She cried desperately. The Sullustan ignored the tears brimming in her eyes.

"Off planet? I should throw you out of this _ship_! That'd get you off planet all right! Or maybe I should turn around right now and take you back!" He threatened emptily.

"No!" She all but screamed and she began crying in earnest. The desperation in her voice, the near hysteria of it, caught him off guard. She clutched at his arms, "No—don't take me back, he'll-he'll take my b-baby!"

The Sullustian furrowed his brow in confusion, releasing his hold of her shirt collar as he did so. Taking a step back he took a good long look at her and realized, with a start of dread, that his stowaway was very much pregnant.

"Please," she wailed, "please, d-don't…I'd rather die than—than—." She broke off and doubled up with pain, grasping her protruding belly tightly and uttering a sharp cry. He realized numbly that it was a cry like this that had awoken him. He realized even more numbly, as though a stun bolt had just fried his brain, that the Twi'lek was not just pregnant—she was in the process of giving birth _right now_. Her water had already broken, and lay glistening across the metallic floor.

All anger evaporated from him, like a drop of water in the deserts of Tatooine. He was a hardened spice smuggler, an excellent pilot, and a sure shot with a blaster but _this_was far and away beyond the realms of his expertise. It seemed ages ago that his own daughter had been born, and he had not been in the room at the time. _Better to let the medical droid deal with this_, he had thought. He found himself kneeling down to the level of his stowaway. Her orange eyes snapped open for a few gasping breaths before squeezing tightly shut once more, her deep olive green skin dotted with sweat, regardless of the frigidness of the cargo hold.

"Ehm, lets get you out of here. It's too cold." He said dumbly. The Twi'lek spared him a shocked expression as he lifted her slowly up under the armpits and into a precarious standing position.

"You—you're letting me stay?" She gasped, hunched over with pain. He grimaced as he led her out of the cargo hold and towards his relaxation room. He had only meant to scare the young woman and he felt slightly abashed that she had taken his threats seriously.

"Well—I mean—you can't really go anywhere in this condition." He shrugged, pressing on the lights and wondering just where to set her. He understood birth to be a messy affair and quickly rated his furniture in terms of importance. The Twi'lek had let out a sobbing cry, and he was unsure whether this was from pain or from relief in the knowledge that he would not take her back to Nar Shadda. "Here, there you go, lie there." He said, and realized as he regarded her faint looking face, that she was younger than his daughter and by a fair amount. Probably not even in her second decade yet. She lay down with a shudder upon a long low, padded bench opposite a scuffed ovular table he used to play sabacc with his astromech droid during long flights.

"What's your name?" He asked, wondering just what the hell he should be doing to help her. He knew medical droids did an awful lot—the bill they had charged for delivering his daughter had shown many services.

"Ha-Halai." She struggled. "Halai R-Rens'uta."

"Well, uh, Halai, you need to stay calm. I'm not going to kick you off the ship or anything but, uh," he broke off as she arched her back in a forceful contraction. Panic rose in him, but he was sure it was nothing compared to that of the young mothers. "Uh—uh, R3!" He gasped suddenly and ran out of the room.

Fear flooded Halai as the old Sullustan ran out of her line of sight. She had wanted to stay yell 'stay with me!' as even the company of a stranger was better than trying to do this by her self. Although he obviously had no idea what to do, he could at least offer words of comfort or make sure she didn't pass out. She cried out again as another contraction, much more powerful than the last, clamped down upon her, forcing her back to arch. _My pants, _she thought through a haze of pain, _I've got to get them off!_ With a moan of agony she sat upright and with a bit of a struggle managed to pull off the loose leggings. She didn't care that the pilot would see her exposed—the point of modesty had long since passed.

She heard thundering footsteps and the Sullustan burst into the room, before skidding to an abrupt halt upon seeing her naked lower body. He immediately turned his head and averted his eyes, flushing scarlet, as he walked over to her. A brown and white astromech droid trundled into the room, domed head swiveling around.

"I, erhm, brought my astro droid." Halai realized through her pain that his voice had gone up an octave. "He's programmed with basic first aide knowledge…"

Halai wanted to thank him, but she cried out again, bunching up her body as another contraction wracked her. The squat little droid rolled over, stopping when it was near her head, it's single, dark lens focusing intently on her. It let out a low whistle and a few questioning chirps. Halai did not know what the droid meant, nor did she care as she lay limply against the worn bench of seats, her breath quick and ragged. R3 made a slow ascending whistle, followed by a slow descending whistle. It repeated these noises softly, and almost without her knowing it, she began to time her breath to the soothing sounds. Another tearing contraction brought another cry from her lips and she bore down with all the strength she had, pushing until the pain peaked so forcefully that she again went limp. Sweat drenched her and even her lekku were curled against the next downwards shudder of a contraction.

A plaintive yell erupted from her, legs spread wide, as she pushed down with every fiber of her being.

"I—I can see the head!" The Sullustan gasped. Evidently, he had gotten over his squeamishness. She breathed deeply in time to the droids low whistles and no sooner had she taken a few lungfuls of air than she was again doubled over. She let out a long, keening cry for the duration of the contraction. It felt as though her bones would crack and she gripped the padding of the bench with enough force to puncture it.

"It's almost out!" The Sullustan cried and he seemed momentarily flustered, gesticulating wordlessly. He realized all at once that there was no droid to catch the child, or to clean it. He dashed clumsily into the refresher unit and grabbed every clean cloth he could find before resuming his position at the end of the bench.

With one last, exhausting push, Halai bore down with reserves of strength she hadn't known she carried. She felt the infant leave her body as though a chunk of permacrete had been lifted off her.

"That's it! It's out!" The Sullustan called to her, peering up over her legs. He had covered his hands in a thick cloth and had caught the baby Twi'lek as soon as it had entered the world. He held it at arms length and took a closer look; although still bloody and covered in birth effluvium, the baby's skin was a pale olive, several shades lighter than it's mother. _His _mother.

"It's a male." He said to the exhausted mother. He felt oddly excited. He'd never seen any sentient creatures birth before. He'd always felt nauseated at the thought. But now, after seeing the ordeal and holding such brand new life in his hands, the first hands, he realized with a start, that the baby Twi'lek had ever felt, he was inclined to feel rather differently.

"L-let me see him." Halai said. She had delivered the afterbirth as he'd been examining the baby. He held the squirming infant before her, the tiny mouth open in a toothless and soundless howl. "He…he needs to breathe properly."

The Sullustan was not sure what she meant and he looked down at the baby in confusion and concern.

"Plugs…in the nose." She elaborated. "Need to be taken out."

He wondered frantically just how to go about doing this when R3 extended his light vacuum hose, which he usually used for tidying up the ship. Catching on at once, he took hold of the hose and held it before the tiny nostrils. R3 turned it to its lowest setting, but it was enough to do the trick. The tiny white plugs zoomed down the tube and into the droids refuse holder.

Now able to get a full lungful of air, the baby let out an incredibly loud howl before it wound down into softer cries. He was shocked at the volume of the cries and felt temporarily uneasy holding the baby, afraid that he must somehow be hurting him.

But Halai only smiled weakly. "Good…he's healthy."

R3 wheeled closer to him and extended a small whirring blade. Momentarily frightened that his droid had come unhinged and wanted to harm the crying baby, the old pilot held him higher in the air.

"It's alright. He just wants to cut the umbilical cord." Halai explained with a smile.

"O-oh, of course." He said as if he'd known it all along.

Allowed to finish its task, R3 quickly cut through the thick, reddish rope, and the baby was now free of its former lifeline.

"I, uh, suppose he could use some cleaning up." The Sullustan said. "Here, you take him and I'll grab a bowl of water. He stumped out of the room leaving Halai alone with her baby; the droid had wheeled a respectful distance away.

_My son_ she thought, holding him close to her and reveling in his warmth, at his cries and in the knowledge that he had _come _from her. It was incredible to her that she had formed him, carried him, protected him and now…here he was, warm and alive in her arms. She felt so overcome with emotion that she could not keep a few tears from running down her cheeks.

She admired the chubby face, the clutching hands and the tiny lekku. The lekku—she almost laughed at the petiteness of them. They hardly hung past the back of his skull, but she knew, in time, they would far surpass hers in length and thickness. For now though he was tiny, frail, and perfect. She even rejoiced in the pale olive skin tone. It was a perfect mixture of her own and the baby's father's skin but she did not let that bother her. She felt a momentary pang of anger and revulsion upon thinking about the father, glad that the drunkard criminal would never see this miraculous creation. He deserved no part in the child's life.

She was roused from her musings when the Sullustan re-entered the room, carrying a large bowl of warm water. Picking up a few of the rags, he dipped them into the bowl, wrung them out and then handed them to Halai. She gently began to clean her baby, the first bath of many, and he fidgeted weakly. He too seemed exhausted by the process of birth, for he relented and let her scrub him without struggling.

The Sullustan watched this scene for a few minutes, inwardly impressed by how well Halai had dealt with giving birth in front of a stranger in the depths of hyperspace. _She's tougher than a few spacers I've known, _he mused. He then stood and walked over to his bed, removed an extra blanket and draped it over her form, reddening again at this acknowledgement of her half nudity.

She tore her eyes away from her son, who was mostly clean by this point, and gave him a smile. "Thank you."

"You're welcome, stowaway." He nodded.

"I—I don't even know your name." She realized with a start.

"Reg Foy." He said.

"Thank you, Reg…for all that you did." Halai said, and he saw that her eyes had brimmed with tears once more.

Unable to speak, he nodded gruffly and left her to her son.


End file.
